Of Spilt Milk and Cheerios
by EdwardsWeasley
Summary: Ron and Hermione Weasley have been married for nearly ten years. But, when the happy couple realizes they are not so happy anymore, how will their family cope with divorce? Post Hogwarts; Canon compliant. This is R/Hr; don't let that 'D' word throw you
1. Chapter 1

**Of Spilt Milk and Cheerios**

_Summary: _Ron and Hermione Weasley have been married for nearly ten years. But, when the happy couple realizes they are not so happy anymore, how will their family cope with divorce?

_Disclaimer_: I do not own, nor do I claim any rights to, Harry Potter or any associated themes, characters, places, or plots. This is for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

_Author's Notes: _Yes, I'm one of _those_ writers. I am starting to remember my problem with fanfiction all those years ago. When I start writing, I get 3 or 4 plot bunnies at the same time and I CANNOT stop writing. Good news is, I have been keeping this one under wraps and it is already finished. This is extremely short, only about 7 chapters long (in my editing, I have been adding details and I cannot decide if it will be 6 or 7 chapters, and I have not decided if I want to write an epilogue. I will be posting this story every 2 weeks, to give you guys something in between postings for my other stories which unfortunately are not finished and it is taking longer to get them out.

I have not seen this idea on fanfiction as of yet, and I have done about 4 searches. It is not typical of plots I have seen, and I thoroughly hope you guys enjoy it. As always, please remember to review because it makes my day that much more wonderful!

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

The hinges of the old door creaked loudly as it was forced open. As the man let go, it snapped back, banging against the frame. The woman winced at the noise; the door seemed to be channeling the tension of the house, retaliating in anger. She heard his footsteps as he crossed the wooden porch, approaching the steps leading into their garden. She pulled her jumper tighter around her frame, protecting herself from the cold wind that began to sweep around her. It had snowed the night before, leaving a thin blanket of white to rest on every available surface. She had not bothered with a warming charm when she had first ventured out, choosing instead to sit, unprotected, on the snow-covered steps. She had given him the space she knew he needed—the space she felt she needed even more herself.

"Well, I suppose this is it," the thick voice said from behind her. She did not turn to look at him, closing her eyes at the harshness of his words. He was detaching himself, she knew, but it did not make it any easier. He had spent the last hour packing his things, temporarily moving them to Grimmauld Place, until he could find a place of his own. "I'll be here at six on Friday to pick up Rose and Hugo," he added. The woman nodded, and waited to hear his footsteps once more.

Several silent moments passed before she realized he was still standing behind her. Slowly, she turned her head to catch him studying her. It only lasted a second, as he immediately noticed she had turned around. He turned away quickly, headed towards the door.

"Wait…" she whispered to the man's back.

He stopped, but did nothing further to acknowledge her. She tried to say something else, but the words caught in her throat. He sighed in response to her silence and disappeared back into the house. She did not realize she was crying until she felt a single tear fall off the tip of her nose, landing on the snow beneath her.

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><p>Anyone who knew the couple would insist they were made for each other. After all, their friendship was legendary, and no one was surprised when it finally budded into a romantic relationship. It had been easy when they were younger. They had learned quickly that tomorrow was not guaranteed, and they seized their opportunity for a chance at everlasting happiness. Their marriage had been a 'spur of the moment' idea. Yet, it was not an unreasonable decision. They had known each other for almost ten years, and had been a couple for nearly two. The next logical step in their relationship was marriage, after all.<p>

It had been shortly after the new year when he asked her. They had been visiting her parents for the day, and had been out on a walk. As they strolled hand in hand, laughing freely, she had shown him the chapel where her parents were married. He had smiled widely as she detailed the story of her parents' courtship and when she had finished, he remarked, "Let's do it!" She did not question his spontaneity, accepting immediately with a large smile. A month later, they promised their lives to each other in front of a small group of friends and family.

That had been over nine years ago. In fact, their ten year wedding anniversary was five short months away. This anniversary was supposed to be special—they were going to renew their vows, have the wedding ceremony they could not afford when they were twenty, with everyone they knew in attendance. They had been planning it since their first anniversary all of those years ago. It had been his idea, after attending the wedding of her second cousin. He had been mesmerized by all of the elaborate details and had spent the evening telling her exactly how they could change the 'muggle' things her cousin had done to be more elaborate, more spectacular. He had promised her the wedding of her dreams and they decided their ten year anniversary would be the perfect time to do something extravagant. The large, poufy gown, the large reception hall, food for days, and music that played all night. She had told him their wedding had been perfect, but he insisted she deserved something better.

But now, that something better would not be happening. The dress she had purchased three months ago had been pushed to the back of their closet. The invitations they had spent months searching for would never make it to the printers, and the band, caterer, and photographer would all have to be cancelled, deposits forfeited. The wedding of their dreams would remain just that—a dream.

She was not naïve; she knew her marriage was far from perfect. She sometimes wondered if they had made a mistake—if they had married too soon, too young. They were both just starting careers, forming new lives, new personalities—personalities free of fear and danger. She had not realized it then, but it was if they were new people, learning not only things about each other, but of themselves too. They had spent their entire childhood fighting for their lives and the lives of others that they never really had a chance to grow up. But, with all of that danger gone, they began to grow, began to change. Somehow, the love once believed to be so strong began to crack, and now, it seemed far beyond repair.

The first few years of their marriage were spent more apart than together. They were both very much immersed in their lives at work. They both left extremely early in the morning, barely sharing breakfast, and returned very late at night—both too tired to eat supper. They would fall into bed almost immediately, but hardly for intimate reasons, instead sound asleep before their heads even hit the pillows. They worked six days a week, both desperate to prove themselves more than just The Chosen One's best friends. Their schedules became more and more opposite, and on the rare occasion they shared a Sunday off together, they travelled to his parents' house for brunch and afternoon tea with his family.

Five years into their marriage and many nieces and nephews later, they decided it was their time to become parents. Their jobs had settled down, both in better routines—at least enough to where they ate dinner together every night. But still, the time they spent together was short, and deciding to try for a baby left little time for mindless chatter or carefree outings. Their focus shifted from work to the bedroom, and after a few short months, their goal had been achieved. They were expecting a baby the next April, and overjoyed, everything seemed to be right with their world.

The birth of their daughter was agreeably the best thing that had ever happened to the pair. They loved her unconditionally. However, naturally, her arrival meant they spent even less time with each other than before. Although they were always _together_, Rose was very demanding, and took away all of their time and energy. The dinners and intimate time they been sharing again fell by the wayside. However, they hardly realized they were neglecting each other and went about their lives as if all was normal.

Their second child, Hugo, had been an accident. She had recently been promoted to the law department, and he was second in command of the Aurors. Any time spent away from the Ministry was spent with Rose, who was in her terrible twos and proved to live up to her Weasley name. She could give her cousins a run for their money when she was upset. However, neither was upset when they discovered they would be new parents once more, and both were excited when they were told it would be a boy. Yet, neither had been prepared for the demands of two children, and it was then that they began to realize just how serious the problems in their marriage were. They had spent years pushing them away, ignoring them for what they really were, but now, there was no denying the inevitable.

They simply did not know each other and they had not known each other for years. Ignoring their problems proved impossible with tensions so high in their home, a screaming toddler, and a newborn. When they spoke now, their tones were always accusatory, angry, and drained. They could never agree and thought the other was always wrong. After a year of living this way, they had decided the night before they could not do it anymore and that it was over. He had agreed to pack his things, and reluctantly called his sister and brother-in-law for support. He did not want to bother them with his own problems—they had three young ones of their own—but he certainly did not want his mother discovering the end of his marriage just yet, and his brothers, although he loved them dearly, would not only insist he was being an idiot, but would call their mother as well. There was no question about her staying in the house and keeping the children for the majority of the time. His missions were dangerous and he was sometimes gone for days and weeks at a time. She had accumulated so much leave at the ministry that she would be able to take three weeks off until they could sort out the legalities and fall into a new routine.

Snow began to fall again, and the woman suddenly realized her children would be waking up soon. She stood, breathing deeply, trying to prepare herself for the day that lay ahead. As she made her way inside and into the sitting room, she quietly picked up the blanket her husband had folded and placed on top of the couch. Their decision had been made late into the evening, and he could not leave so late at night. He had walked away from their bedroom sadly, taking the extra blanket for the rocking chair in the corner. She wondered briefly if he had been able to sleep the night before. Although she had tossed and turned all night, she doubted her husband had much trouble. He could fall asleep regardless of the circumstances.

Suddenly hearing a loud wail, she dropped the blanket back onto the couch and headed down the short hallway to her son's bedroom. The door was halfway opened—no doubt her husband had snuck in before leaving—and she could see Hugo had pulled himself up. His fists were wound tightly around the bars of the crib and he had his head facing up, mouth opened into the perfect 'O' shape, screaming as loudly as he could. This was his customary good morning. He was a quiet baby for the most part, sleeping throughout the night and rarely whining during the day. But, first thing in the morning was his time to be loud. He wanted to ensure everyone knew he was awake. She made her way across the room quickly, holding her arms out, ready for Hugo to reach out to her. However, he only continued to wail, never removing his hands from his bed.

"Hugo," she whispered softly, trying to calm him. Rose was surely still asleep, and it was better left that way. The longer Rose slept, the longer she could focus on her unhappy youngest child. "Shhh," she soothed.

Hugo cries turned into heaves and she scooped him out of the crib, hoping to rock him. He squirmed in her grasp, but after a moment began to calm down. Finally, he looked at her and said, "Da, da, da, da."

She looked at him sadly and shook her head. "Daddy's not here right now, Hugo," she tried to explain, but naturally it was no use. Hugo was too young to understand what was happening to his parents.

"Da, da, da," Hugo repeated, and began to squirm again. His eyes were still filled with his morning tears and his bottom lip quivered.

"Daddy will see you in a few days, sweetheart," she whispered. "It's just me, you, and Rosie now." And as he began to wail again, she held him tight and let her own tears fall freely with Hugo's.

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><p><em>Author's Note<em> Thank you for reading! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Of Spilt Milk and Cheerios**

_Summary: _Ron and Hermione Weasley have been married for nearly ten years. But, when the happy couple realizes they are not so happy anymore, how will their family cope with divorce?

_Disclaimer_: I do not own, nor do I claim any rights to, Harry Potter or any associated themes, characters, places, or plots. This is for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

_Author's Notes:_As promised, I am updating this story, as it is the only one finished. Those of you who are anxiously awaiting updates for _I Never Knew You _and _Lights. Bright. White._ I am sorry I do not have completed chapters for you. My life is extremely hectic right now, and it saddens me I do not have a lot of time to write, as it is a great stress reliever and Merlin knows I'm stressed right now. I barely had time to edited this, so if you find any grammar/spelling/other mistakes, I apologize.

**Thank you** as always to all who reviewed and alerted this story. Thank you for giving something out of the ordinary a chance and I hope I do not disappoint.

*I would also like to point out I have **zero** experience with divorce, thankfully, except for my parents who are going through one now, but obviously since I am an adult I am not as directly as affected as I would be if I were a child. Divorce is a very rocky subject, one that should not be taken lightly, and I hope no one thinks I am mocking it. I am simply experimenting with the idea that Ron and Hermione did not have an _easy_ happily-ever-after and how they handle it.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

It had been three days since Ron had left, and Hermione was still in a constant state of depression. She had shut everyone but her children out. Ginny had tried to call on her several times since Ron's arrival at Grimmauld place, but Hermione had changed the protected wards. Only she and Ron were allowed in, and she knew Ron would not be coming until this evening at six. She had told no one else of her failing marriage. The ministry thought something had happened to her parents, and that she was with them. However, Hermione had not talked to her parents since the previous weekend, when she had been by their home to bid them farewell. They were currently in the middle of the Caribbean, on a two week luxury cruise, unaware of their only child's problems.

She was also uncertain if any of the Weasleys knew. Harry and Ginny were not known to gossip, and while they did know the marriage was coming to an end, they were not likely to tell anyone else. Hermione had not noticed anyone else trying to come in from the Floo, and therefore, she felt confident in the fact that her mother-in-law was none the wiser. She surely would not go down without a fight, and if she wanted to talk to Hermione, she would find a way to do so.

While Ron continued to go to work and keep up appearances, Hermione was content to stay at home with Rose and Hugo. While she played with them, she forgot about the divorce, forgot the fact her husband would not be coming home, and forgot about the fact that she had finally failed at something. While she was the 'brightest witch of her age,' she had made a rubbish wife. The first night Ron was gone she made a list of all of her mistakes and realized none of this was Ron's fault, but all hers. If only she had paid him a bit more attention, made his dinner more often, insisted they talk about their days… None of it mattered now though. After twenty years of friendship and romance, it was plain to see they did not really know each other at all.

Hermione watched as her daughter scribbled across the pages of the muggle coloring book her grandparents had given her for her third birthday. Hugo was crawling around her, attempting to take the crayons from his older sister. Rose would squeal loudly, causing Hugo to stop for a moment, contemplating his next move. Hermione, who was sitting on the floor next to them, pulled Hugo into her arms and began to tickle him. Rose dropped her crayon and waddled over to them, leaning onto Hermione's legs.

"Mummy?" she asked.

"Yes, Rosie?"

"When is Daddy coming home?"

Hermione looked to her daughter sadly. Both of her children had asked after their dad several times a day since he had left. He had been gone before, certainly, for various assignments. Yet, this time, it was much different. Somehow, it seemed as if her children knew, despite their age, that this time, Daddy was not simply away for work. Hermione had thought about explaining the situation to Rose, who although only a toddler, understood much more than other children her age. Each time she stopped herself, unable to break her daughter's heart. At least not so soon.

"Daddy is coming to see you tonight," Hermione explained. "You and Hugo are going to see Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny this weekend."

"Da, da," Hugo mumbled happily. Rose, however, was not satisfied with her mother's answer.

"Why?" she questioned simply. When Hermione did not answer immediately, Rose added, "You are staying too?"

Hermione shook her head in response, which only prompted Rose to ask why again. "I have things to do," Hermione lied. "And Daddy thought you would like to see your cousins." Rose still did not seem to accept her mother's answer, but she did not question further. Instead, she stuck her small hands out and attempted to tickle her brother. As Hugo laughed, Rose smiled at Hermione, conveying much more meaning than a three year old should be able to comprehend.

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><p>Ron stepped out of the fireplace at precisely six o'clock. Hermione sat at the kitchen table, waiting for him. She was shocked that he was on time. Ron was always notoriously early or impeccably late, but never on time. He frowned at the sight of her and looked around for his children. He sighed when he realized they were not with her, which could only mean she wanted to talk.<p>

"Where are they?" he grunted.

"In the sitting room." Ron made to leave, clearly in an effort to get away from Hermione as quickly as possible. "Ron, wait." He stopped and turned, staring not at her, but right through her. "We need to talk."

"About what?" he mumbled.

"Rose knows."

"Knows what? About us?" His frown deepened, the lines in his face stretching. He took a few steps closer and Hermione examined his face. The wrinkles in his forehead were defined and she noticed dark circles under his eyes that had not been there the last time she had seen him. He appeared drained, but she knew he would never admit that this separation was affecting him as much as it was her. "You're being ridiculous," he said then, interrupting her thoughts. "She's only a baby."

"Don't patronize me," Hermione snapped. "I'm telling you. She knows something isn't right. We need to tell her before someone else does."

He sighed heavily and took the last few steps towards the table. He pulled out a second chair and sat across from his wife. "I suppose you are right," he sighed. "Despite our best efforts to keep it from them, James knows. He's very nosey, that one, and he overheard me talking with Harry. We already had to explain it to him, and although Albus and Lily don't understand, I'm sure James has told them. Quite the busy body, that one."

Hermione nodded. Harry and Ginny's oldest son, having both Potter and Weasley genes, was incredibly mischievous, and therefore, he was in everyone's business at all times. Like Rose, he was also very smart, and refused to take no for an answer.

Five minutes later found them sitting again at their dining room table, but this time, Rose was propped in a chair between her parents, Hugo playing obliviously on the floor beneath them. Rose placed her hands in her lap formally and looked first at Ron and then to Hermione.

"Daddy," she addressed, and then, "Mummy."

The way in which she spoke was highly amusing, and if it was not for the current circumstances, Hermione would have laughed aloud.

"Sweetheart," Ron began, but he stopped, words caught in his throat. He too, did not like the idea of shattering his only daughter's world. She was too young to be told her family was broken.

"Rosie," Hermione took over, "what your Daddy is trying to tell you—" and then she stopped too. Rose frowned, and Hermione was almost sure she rolled her eyes.

"What your mother is trying to say is," Ron said, glaring at Hermione, "is that we are getting a divorce." He studied his daughter's face, preparing for a reaction, and when none came, he asked, "Do you know what a divorce is?"

"'Course I do," she stated matter-of-factly.

"You do?" he choked and Hermione raised her eyebrows. She was sure they had never spoken of divorce in their house before this past week, and certainly never in front of Rose.

"Grandma was talking to Granddad one time," she explained. "She said Mrs. Johns was having a 'fair and that Mr. Johns wanted a 'vorce."

"Trust your parents to gossip in front of our children," Ron hissed and Hermione resisted the urge to retaliate.

"But, dear," Hermione started, "do you understand what it means?"

Rose, who had looked so certain before, scrunched up her face in concentration. "I 'pose not."

Hermione closed her eyes, willing for strength. How do you tell a child her parents are no longer in love? Hermione did not have time to contemplate an answer.

Ron had moved his chair closer to Rose's and he bent down until he was face to face with his daughter. "Rose, there's something you have to understand, okay?" Rose nodded keenly, waiting for her father to continue. "When two people love each other very much, they get married, okay?" Rose nodded. She had seen her parents' wedding pictures, had heard the stories of her aunt and uncles' own weddings. "But, sweetheart, sometimes, marriage doesn't always last. Sometimes, two people who were once in love grow apart." He briefly looked at Hermione, and she caught the sad look in his eyes. "Your Mummy and I, well, we have decided that while we love you and Hugo very much, we no longer love each other."

Although Hermione had come to this conclusion earlier in the week, Ron's words still stung. Hermione's eyes began to water and her breath hitched. She realized the last few days spent with her children had been the easiest part of the long road ahead. She focused her gaze on Hugo, who had become fascinated, once again, with his toes and was currently attempting to put his foot in his mouth. She had been trying to correct this behavior since it had started, but at this moment, it was comforting to watch Hugo in his attempt.

"But you are gonna come home, right?" Rose was asking now.

Ron shook his head. "No, Rosie. I'm not going to live here with Mummy anymore."

"You're leaving me too?" she whispered sadly, and her voice cracked slightly. Hermione chanced a look at Ron, who did not seem to be holding up much better than her.

"No, no," he denied. "I will see you all the time. You'll keep your room here, but you're going to have another room too. At my house."

"Two rooms?" She seemed to have composed herself, and the prospect of two rooms excited her.

Ron gave a small smile. "Yes, Rosie, two rooms."

This signaled the end of the conversation for Rose, who had jumped down from the chair and approached her brother. "You hear that, Hugo? I'm gonna have two rooms!" she shrieked. The volume of her voice did nothing to excite her brother, and Hugo promptly stopped his actions and proceeded to cry. Hermione immediately reached down to console him, but Ron had the same idea, their heads colliding with a loud 'thunk.' They both froze, hands on either side of their son, conveying that neither was willing to waver. This exchange did not go unnoticed by Rose, whose smile had faded, suddenly remembering _why_ she would have two rooms.

"Mummy?" she whispered, and Hermione relented, allowing Ron to take Hugo onto his lap.

"What is it, dear?" Hermione said, taking her daughter's small hands into her own.

"Why don't you love Daddy anymore?"

Hermione only stared at her daughter and she resisted the urge to look at Ron. Rose stared intently at her mother, her blue eyes lacking their usual sparkle. Hermione wondered how she had never noticed just how similar to Ron her daughter was, in both looks and personality. Her hair, although the same texture and curl as Hermione's, was the exact shade of Weasley red that was prominent among many generations. If Hermione did not know any different, she would insist that she was looking at Ron's eyes, not Rose's. And the row of freckles that ran down the bridge of Rose's noses matched perfectly to Ron's. Looking at Rose was like looking at a miniature version of Ron.

Hermione did not answer her daughter immediately, instead reaching out for her. Hermione closed her eyes and pulled Rose into her arms, squeezing her tightly. Rose relaxed into her mother's chest, and Hermione focused on the rise and fall of Rose's breath.

"Rose," Hermione said softly into Rose's ear, "it's hard to explain." She paused, knowing that not only was the explanation was far beyond her daughter's years, but she did not _know_ how to explain to _anyone_ why she did not love her husband anymore. "What I want you to always remember though," Hermione continued, "is that no matter what happens between me and your Daddy is that I will always love you with all my heart."

Rose clung to her mother tightly, and Hermione gave a small smile, finally chancing a look at Ron. Hugo had calmed down, content on Ron's lap, and had begun his mission of eating his toes once more. Ron was bouncing Hugo slightly on his knees, and Hermione instantly recognized it not as something for Hugo's benefit, but as a nervous habit he had developed after the war. It had always driven her crazy, the constant motion of his legs when something was wrong or he was anxious.

Ron's eyes met hers and he simply nodded, acknowledging that it was time for them to leave. Hermione stood quietly, Rose still in her arms.

"You're going to have fun at Uncle Harry's this weekend, okay, Rose?" Hermione said, as she followed Ron towards the fireplace.

"I miss you, Mummy," Rose replied as she was passed from Hermione's arms into Ron's free one.

Hermione kissed Rose and then Hugo and told them both she loved them. She waved sadly as she threw Floo powder into the fireplace and Ron stepped in, shouting 'Grimmauld Place' as he went. It would be the first night Hermione spent alone in nearly ten years.


	3. Chapter 3

**Of Spilt Milk and Cheerios**

_Summary: _Ron and Hermione Weasley have been married for nearly ten years. But, when the happy couple realizes they are not so happy anymore, how will their family cope with divorce?

_Disclaimer_: I do not own, nor do I claim any rights to, Harry Potter or any associated themes, characters, places, or plots. This is for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

_Author's Notes: _For those of you eagerly awaiting updates on my other stories as well, my apologies. My life has been hectic as of late. I was involved in a car accident a couple of weeks back, and although I am all right, it has been an emotional rollercoaster. I was also out of town for a bit, but I am back home now and I diligently working on all stories.

As always, thank you for all of your wonderful reviews.

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

Hermione would never admit to anyone that she spent the weekend in a drunken stupor. She had never been much of a drinker, even socially, but after Ron had left on Friday evening, Hermione had opened a bottle of wine her parents had given her over the holidays, and she had not stopped. Drunk and alone, Hermione had spent her time on the couch, watching old movies and reading her favorite books. She was desperately trying to avoid her thoughts, her memories, and most of all her feelings. The more time that passed, the more depressed she became. When thoughts of missing Ron floated around, she pushed them away, refusing to acknowledge them.

Her weekend was something she was not particularly proud of, and by the time Sunday evening came, she had cleaned up all evidence of her weekend and had brewed a strong hangover potion. She had to be ready for her children; she had to be strong for them. And if Ron knew she had been drinking, despite the fact that she was perfectly fine now, he would refuse to leave them. As it was, he was bringing them home three hours late, giving her the excuse of the Weasley family dinner. He had already made excuses for her, and she had agreed that questions would be raised if he insisted the children needed to be returned to Hermione 'on time.'

It was nearly eight-thirty, and well past Rose and Hugo's bedtimes, when Ron finally came through the fireplace. Sobered up, angry, and all thoughts of missing Ron gone, Hermione had spent the last two hours drawing up their divorce papers. Divorce in the muggle world, although a long and complicated process, seemed easy compared to the wizarding world, especially when magical children were involved. Hermione had stood up quickly, ready to lash out at Ron, but Rose and Hugo were both asleep in his arms, allowing him an out. Without words, Hermione took Hugo into her own arms and together, they put their children to bed. Afterwards, they silently walked back into the kitchen, where Hermione shoved the papers into Ron's hands.

"Do you have a lawyer yet?" she asked.

"No," Ron admitted as he skimmed the documents.

"I can give you a few names, if you would like."

"I can find a lawyer on my own, thanks," Ron snapped.

Hermione sighed. "I was only trying to help." She sunk into the chair, physically and emotionally drained. Ron frowned.

"Look, Hermione," he started, putting the papers down in front of her. "I'm sorry."

"I just thought you should have your lawyer look over the terms first, before we actually file. It may make things quicker."

"We may not be in love anymore," Ron said, pulling out a chair, "but I still trust you."

Hermione raised her head, searching his eyes. The sincerity of his words matched his eyes and she nodded. "What happened to us, Ron?" She had not meant for the words to leave her mouth, allowing the thought she had focused on for two days finally escape. Her hand shot over her mouth in shock, wishing she could take her words back. Her eyes were still locked with Ron's, whose eyes flickered between emotions—sadness, confusion, longing.

"Honestly," he said after a moment. "I don't know."

Hermione allowed her hand to fall and daringly pushed further. "Do you think we were ever really in love?"

The anger flashed immediately across his face. "I can't believe you would ask that."

Hermione hung her head. She certainly did not believe it. She had reflected on her life all weekend, and had come to the conclusion that yes, she had been very much in love with Ron, perhaps since she was fifteen years old, if not sooner. But, what she could not figure out was when she _stopped_ loving him. It was not as if she had woken up one morning and said, 'Today is the day I stop loving my husband.' But, here they were, two adults who claimed to no longer care for each other in the intimate way in which a husband and wife should.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, and she was surprised when she felt Ron's hand envelope her own.

"Hermione," he said quietly. "I can't explain what's happened to us. But, there's one thing I _do_ know. I have loved you for years, and even now, I still love you. I just—I just don't know if I am _in _love with you anymore." He released her hand suddenly and she heard his sharp intake of breath.

"Ron…" she trailed off, but looked at him again. "I really am sorry."

"Me too."

Silence fell over them and Hermione began to play with her hands nervously. If this was a typical Sunday night, they would be curled up on the couch in the sitting room. On their five year anniversary, Hermione's parents had gifted them an old television and DVD player. _'With a new baby in the house,' _her father had said, _'it's nice to have an escape.' _Hermione knew he had been joking, but it had become a tradition with them since then. Every Sunday night, after putting the children to bed, they would settle in for the evening and watch a movie—usually an action film if it was Ron's choice, or a romantic classic if it was Hermione's. She thought back to the last movie they had watched, nearly two weeks ago—it had been Ron's choice, and naturally, he chose a film Hermione had not wanted to see. Some racing flick with a lot of scantily clad women. Hermione had grinned and bared it—their fighting had been steadily increasing in the past month, and if they could spend a peaceful two hours together, she would have to accept his film. It should have been her turn last, but that Sunday they had fought so badly, she had locked herself in the study, their tradition forgotten.

Ron was the first to break the silence. "You said you had some lawyers' names, yeah?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, ready to retort, but then thought better of it. What was the point of fighting? "Yeah. I'll write them down for you." She stood, making her way into the kitchen. From the corner drawer, she pulled a scrap piece of parchment and a self-inking quill. "Davis is probably going to be your best bet. He specializes in family law. But, I am not sure if he is accepting new clients at this time. There's Amos too. And Roves." She was busy scribbling every name she could think of and continued rambling on. She only stopped when she felt Ron next to her, placing his hand on the moving quill.

"You really don't have to do this, you know?" She could almost detect his trademark smirk behind the tired lines of his face.

She nodded. "I'm only trying to help."

"What about you? Will you be okay?"

"Honestly, Ron. Have you forgotten I work in the Magical Law office?" She forced a smile, as if to tell him he was insulting her intelligence.

Ron shook his head. "I know _that_," he breathed. "I mean…" he trailed off and then muttered a 'never mind' as he took the parchment from her. She had known what he was implying the first time, but she did not trust herself to answer. She wanted to tell him yes, she was perfectly fine. She was a strong, independent woman, and she certainly did not need a man. But, that was not the real answer. The truth, however, was not something she had even admitted to herself.

"I'm fine, Ron," she lied firmly, and then changing the subject, "when will you be by again?"

"Well, I know I do not want to go another week before seeing my children. Can we alternate evenings?"

Hermione sighed. "Two evenings and the full weekend?"

"You're home with them all day!" he protested, a slight rise in his voice. Hermione huffed.

"_Fine_," she hissed. "But only for now. When I go back to work, however—"

He cut her off. "Hopefully by then this whole thing will be settled and we'll let the court decide!"

They were both effectively worked up again, breathing heavily through their noses. Hermione had not realized they were standing face to face, chests puffed out, as if posed for another row. She wanted to tell him the divorces often took months, even years, before they were finalized, even if they could speed up the process with finalizing the forms early. But, Hermione was tired, unable to focus on the argument, and relented first.

"Well, you've got what you need, so I will kindly ask that you leave now," she requested evenly.

Ron shot her a look, but held back his words. He merely nodded and shoving the parchment into his pocket, turned to the fireplace and left once more.

* * *

><p>The next few days were spent much as they had been the week before. Hermione continued to shut out her family, choosing instead to focus as much time on her children as possible. Since their disagreement, Ron and Hermione had not spoken again. He had arrived promptly at five thirty on Tuesday and Thursday evenings to take Rose and Hugo to Harry and Ginny's for dinner and brought them back at eight. When he did speak to her, his voice was even, calm, but she knew it was more for their children's benefit than for hers.<p>

They were in the middle of Thursday evening's exchange when Ron attempted to hand her a folded up piece of parchment.

"It's from Ginny," he stated. Hermione was too busy trying to take the sleeping form of Hugo from his father's arm and only stared at the paper. "She only wants to see you. I don't know why you're shutting her and Harry out too."

Hugo stirred slightly from all of the movement and Hermione looked down at her daughter. "Rosie, why don't you go brush your teeth, okay? I'll be there in a minute to help you get into bed." Rose nodded sleepily, and a yawn escaped from her small mouth. She began to slowly walk away, muttering an 'I love you, Daddy' to Ron as she left. "Have you told your parents yet?"

"Have you told yours?" he countered.

Hermione glared at him. "They're on holiday, remember? They won't be back until Sunday."

"Right. And, no, I haven't told anyone except for Harry and Ginny."

"Why not?" The Weasleys were always very close, something that Hermione had always admired, not resented. While she was not necessarily up for the line of questioning, she was sure that Ron would have told at least his mother by now. Hermione knew he could not keep making excuses for her much longer.

Ron shrugged. "I dunno. Haven't really seen the point in it." Hermione clicked her tongue and turned away from him, ready to go put Hugo in his crib. "Something you need to say?" he asked after her.

Hermione ignored him as she left the kitchen, but she could hear his footsteps following behind her. He did not say anything more and passed by Hugo's room on the way to Rose's. She could hear the murmur of their voices as Ron helped Rose finish her bedtime routines. Hermione closed her eyes, trying to focus on the conversation, but gave up as it fell silent.

Hugo stirred slightly as Hermione placed him on the changing table to get him into a fresh nappie. Hermione was thankful he did not cry as he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. She smiled as he blinked several times and then began to blow bubbles. He was so innocent, so unaware of his mother's unhappiness. As she changed him, he babbled and giggled, kicking his feet as Hermione pulled a blue onesie over his legs.

"Ma, ma, ma," he said, a yawn escaping in between his words.

Hermione lifted him close as she carried him to his crib. "Oh, Hugo," she whispered. "It's going to be okay, isn't it?" She lifted him up, snuggling her nose to his. He smiled lazily, as if in response, and his eyelids began to fall again as she slowly bounced him in her arms. He babbled incoherently as she gently laid him down, attempting to keep the small smile on her face.

Hermione jumped slightly as she turned toward the door, where Ron was leaning in the doorway, watching her. It was unnerving, the way his blue eyes focused on her, narrowed, void of emotion. She instantly felt as if she was transported in time, when she was fifteen, and had accompanied Viktor Krum to the Yule Ball. She remembered how hurt she had been by Ron's reaction, and how oblivious he had been to their feelings for each other.

"Is Rose asleep?" she asked, pushing passed him, no longer comfortable under his intense gaze.

"Yeah," he mumbled, pulling Hugo's door shut, following after her into the kitchen.

"Well, then, I guess I'll see you tomorrow evening," Hermione said, flicking her wand at the dishes in the sink.

"You don't have to be short," he chastised.

She was not sure why she was being so harsh with him. Her mood had been sour since she had awoken that morning, for no particular reason at all. Ron was an easy target to take out her emotions on. "And, you, certainly, do not tell me what to do," she snapped. He huffed, and she waited for his retort. They both narrowed their eyes at each other, poised for an argument. After a moment, however, Ron simply let out a frustrated sigh, approached the fireplace, and in mere seconds, left without another word.


End file.
